


And the Greatest of These

by clgfanfic



Category: War of the Worlds (TV)
Genre: M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-13
Updated: 2012-11-13
Packaged: 2017-11-18 13:34:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/561616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clgfanfic/pseuds/clgfanfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Paul needs to relax.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And the Greatest of These

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in the zine Plain Brown Wrapper #2 and later in One in Ten #8 under the pen name Duval.

_"Some things are more relaxing than others, Colonel."_

 

 

          Ironhorse sat quietly in his chair, watching the rest of the Cottage's residents as they decorated the fifteen foot tall Christmas tree.  The beautiful spruce took up an entire alcove in the living room.

          _Supervising_ , he amended.  He wasn't just watching them, he was supervising.

          After a rather chaotic beginning after dinner, each of the civilians had finally settled into their individual specialties.  Norton hung ornaments around the bottom half of the tree, while Suzanne stood on a stepladder, taking care of the upper boughs.  Harrison wrestled with the lights and, as far as Paul could tell, the lights were winning.  Debi, placed in charge of tinsel, carefully draped the icicle strands of silver in place, piece by piece.  Mrs. Pennyworth alternated between trying to help Harrison, and fishing out new boxes of ornaments for Suzanne and Norton.  All in all, it was a cozy picture. 

          Beside the colonel the fire snapped cheerily, its heat filling the room with comfortable warmth and the smell of pine and cedar.  The faint aroma of cinnamon drifted in from the kitchen, and the housekeeper excused herself to go check on her latest round of baking.  When she returned, she handed Ironhorse a cup of coffee, then carried the tray over for the others.

          "Thank you," Suzanne said, climbing down to retrieve her cup.

          "You're very welcome," the older woman replied.  "The tree looks wonderful."

          "Can I put the angel on top?" Debi asked her mother, her bright blue eyes begging.

          Suzanne smiled.  "Sure, Chicken.  Just be careful."

          Debi smiled.  "Thanks, Mom."  Taking the porcelain figurine they'd uncovered, she climbed the stepladder and cautiously set the angel in place.  "How's that?"

          "Perfect," Ironhorse said from his chair.

          "Why don't you get ready for bed, kiddo," Suzanne told her once she'd climbed back down.  "We'll clean up the boxes."

          "Ah, Mom, do I have to?"

          "Yes, you do," she said, hugging her daughter's shoulders.  "You have school tomorrow."

          "Okay," she moaned.  "But can I come back after I'm ready?"

          "Just until ten."

          "Thanks, Mom!" the teen said, bounding off.

          The microbiologist shook her head.  "Where do they get the energy?"

          "Don't know, but I sure wish I could plug into some of it," Norton said, fighting back a yawn.  He shook his head.  "Think I'm goin' to bed, too."

          "Me, too," Suzanne commiserated, then turned to Paul and Harrison.  "Tell my daughter that bedtime is ten, not ten-thirty."

          Harrison grinned.  "We'll take care of it."

          Norton and Suzanne left, saying their good-nights to Mrs. Pennyworth as she bustled into the living room, gathering up the empty coffee cups.  "I'll be turning in, too," she told the two men.  "I have lots of baking to do in the morning."

          "Good-night," the colonel said as he and Harrison started for the empty boxes. "We'll put these up."

          "I do appreciate it, Colonel.  Sleep well."

          Harrison tossed Paul an empty ornament box, the soldier catching and sliding it into the large cardboard container marked: Christmas Stuff.

          They were half done when Debi galloped back into the room.  "I'm goin' to watch TV in my room; there's a cool Christmas special on."

          "Oh?" Blackwood asked.  "What's that?"

          "The Grinch," the girl explained.  "I love the Grinch, and his little dog, huh, Max.  He's so cute with reindeer horns."

          The pair watched the blonde ponytail bounce as the girl turned and sprinted down the hall.  She slid to a stop at the front door, executed a perfect ninety-degree turn on her stocking-clad foot and stormed up the stairs.

          "Where _do_ they get the energy?" Harrison asked with a chuckle.

          "I think it's classified," Paul replied, shaking his head.  He grabbed the remaining empty boxes, sliding them in place.

          "Speaking of the impossible…" Harrison said, walking over to stand beside the soldier and staring into the box.  "How did you manage to get all those boxes back into the same space they came out of?  It's theoretically impossible to do that, you know."

          "That, Doctor, is strictly need-to-know," Paul said, folding the flaps closed and hefting it.  "Open the hall door for me?"

          "Sure," Harrison said, leading the way to the closet and pulling it open. 

          Ironhorse stepped past the astrophysicist and lifted the box, sliding it into its place on the shelf.  "Thanks."

          The pair walked back to the dark living room, illuminated only by the light from the fireplace and the tiny white lights, which blinked on and off all around the tree.  Paul headed to the hearth, kneeling down to rearrange the fire and add another log.  He could sense Harrison standing behind him, watching.  He smiled – a small, lopsided grin.  It had been too long since they'd had some time alone.

          The smile faded.  Alien activity had picked up, and in a few months they'd hit Kitara's deadline…  Would she return?  Would she bring another android with her?  Would the two Synths be able to stop the Mor'taxans, and if they did, what new war would the human race find itself in?

          He chased the depressing thoughts away.  He didn't want to think about things like that right now.  All he wanted to do was to enjoy the peace of the Cottage, the bubbly spirit of the holidays and the pleasures he'd found in Blackwood's bed.  He felt the warmth creep into his groin and hastily finished with the blaze and retreated to his chair.

          Harrison sank down on the couch, watching him, his own small smile spreading over inviting lips.

          "What?" Ironhorse asked, hoping he wasn't blushing.  Whenever Harrison looked at him like that he felt like butter under a heat lamp.

          Blackwood shook his head.  "You still don't know what to do, do you?"

          Paul's eyebrows rose.  "Do?"

          "With Christmas."

          The Cherokee shrugged.  "I've had… mixed feelings about the holiday."

          "Oh?" Blackwood replied, leaning forward.  "Like what?"

          Ironhorse stifled a smile.  Harrison was half cat, but all he'd inherited was the curiosity factor.  He took a deep breath.  A year ago he wouldn't have dreamed of talking about himself like this, but things were different now.

          "My grandparents didn't celebrate it."

          "I'm not surprised," Harrison said.  "They believed in other gods."

          Paul nodded.  "My mother and her family were Catholic, and the nuns at the boarding school had their version of the holiday.  It left me feeling . . . torn."  He glanced distantly at the dancing flames.  "It was like that until I left for the Point."

          "Did the Army celebrate Christmas?"

          Ironhorse shrugged.  "Most of the cadets went home, or traveled over the holidays.  Oh, we had services at the chapel, and they served turkey and ham at the mess, but it was… protocol."

          Harrison nodded.  "Like the university.  Why didn't you go home?"

          "I don't know.  I guess I wanted to prove to myself I could handle it on my own, that I didn't need to go back.  Besides, my mother's family was ticked off that I'd gone to the Point, and my grandfather understood my need to be on my own."

          Blackwood nodded.  "I think that's why Clayton forced me to go to school away from PIT.  I came home for the holidays, but they were never what you could call normal."

          "With you, I'm not surprised, Doctor."

          Harrison leveled a "that's not funny" glare on the soldier.  "Seriously, until I came here Christmas was, well, just another day in a lot of ways."

          Ironhorse leaned back, getting more comfortable.  There were times when the similarities between Harrison and himself were frightening, but the gulf of their differences usually overrode the uneasy feelings the parallels elicited.

          "It's strange, isn't it?" Harrison asked.

          "What?"

          "Being part of a family – a real family."

          "Explain?"

          "I'm not sure I can," Harrison said, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees.  He cradled the empty goose-head coffee cup in his hands.  "After my parents died, I lived with Clayton… I loved him as much as I did my parents, but we weren't a family, not in that anchor-in-the-storm kind of way.  Does that make sense?"

          "I think so," Paul replied softly.  "Being here, now… it feels…"

          "Safe?"

          Paul nodded.  "Warm."

          "Fuzzy?"

          The onyx eyes narrowed.  "Very funny, Blackwood."

          "I'm sorry.  I didn't mean to belittle your feelings, Paul.  And I know what you mean.  It feels good, doesn't it?"

          "Yes, it does," was the bluntly honest reply.  "Very good."

          Harrison stood and walked over to the fireplace.  He set his coffee cup on the mantle and stared down at the flames.  "Sometimes I wish I didn't have to leave this place; that if I just stayed here – safe – it would all go away."

          "Yeah, me, too," Paul admitted.

          Harrison turned to look at the colonel.  "Really?"

          Paul nodded.  "Sometimes I get tired of fighting… tired of killing and death."

          Harrison sank down to sit on the stone hearth, drawing his knees up and wrapping his arms around them.  He looked up at the soldier.  "What do you do?"

          Ironhorse's eyebrows arched and his cheeks puffed.  "To be honest, I'm not sure.  Sometimes I can just ignore it… sometimes I get mad, and that burns it up… sometimes I can work it off."  _And sometimes I provoke an argument with you    . . ._ His gaze dropped to meet Harrison's.  "And sometimes I have to face it, deal with it."

          "What then?"

          "I go on.  I find the purpose again."

          Blackwood's head dropped slightly.  "I wish I could do that.  There are times I feel like I'm fraying along the edges, but Norton or Suzanne, or you, even Debi . . . I look at you, and I see what I'm fighting for."

          "That's the way war works.  You have to keep looking for reasons to go on; don't give up."

          "I know."

          "It's not easy," Paul said.  "But times like this help."

          Harrison nodded.  "Yes.  Yes, they do.  And you…"  Blue eyes met black.  "Sometimes I want you so much it hurts," he whispered.

          Ironhorse felt the blood rush to his face.  "I know," he whispered.  "Sometimes I feel the same way about you."

          Harrison reached out, resting a hand on the colonel's warm, denim-covered knee, his thumb rubbing along the material.  "When this is over…?"

          "I don't know," Paul said softly.  "I guess it'll depend on how long it takes, how it turns out."  The lopsided grin returned.  "Hell, I might be ready to retire."

          Blackwood laughed softly.  "That'll be the day.  Besides, you have to make general, become the chairman of the Joint Chiefs."

          "Oh?"

          "That or run for President."

          "Planning my career for me now, Doctor?"

          "You'll never retire, Paul.  It's not in you."

          Ironhorse shrugged.  "I don't know; I would've agreed with you a year ago – hell, six months ago – but now…"  He shook his head.  "I just don't know."

          "Well, whatever happens, it's in the future."  Harrison squeezed Ironhorse's knee.  "And my New Year's resolution is to pay more attention to the _present_."

          "I didn't know you made resolutions, Harrison.  Doesn't that get in the way of all that spontaneity you keep telling me about?"  Paul cocked his head to the side, earning another glare from his lover. 

          "Okay, so I probably won't keep it.  Most don't, you know. . ."  Harrison's voice dropped to a husky growl.  "But, right now I'm completely focused on the here and now, and my immediate wants and needs."

          "Oh?"

          Blackwood nodded.  "Know what I want?"

          The man's burning blue eyes made the answer patently obvious, but Paul wasn't going to make it easy for him.  "No.  What?"

          Harrison's hand slid up Paul's thigh and squeezed.  "Let me show you."

          Ironhorse felt his heart kick and pick up speed and he felt himself already getting hard.  He nodded silently.

          Harrison stood and extended his hand.

          Paul took the proffered hand, letting the scientist help pull him to his feet.  He followed Harrison out of the living room and to the stairs.

          "No, my room," Paul said.  "Debi's still up."

          Harrison nodded his understanding.  They turned back, entering the large, somewhat spartan room.  Paul closed the door behind them, watching Blackwood's gaze wander over the small but varied assortment of mementos that hung on the walls or sat on the furniture.  They usually ended up in a hotel room on the way back from some encounter with the aliens, or in Harrison's room, where the semi-clutter and comfortable disarray was more conducive to their usually athletic sex.  But the order and serenity of his room was more fitting for what Paul had in mind tonight.

          Sitting on the edge of his bed, Ironhorse slipped off his moccasins and socks.  Standing, he carried the shoes to his closet, returning them to their usual place, then detoured through the bathroom to deposit the socks in his dirty-clothes hamper.  Standing on the cold tile, he unbuttoned his flannel shirt, adding it and the white tee-shirt he wore to the basket as well.

          Clad in just his jeans, he returned to the bedroom.  Harrison was standing in front of the dresser, looking down at the tomahawk and battle baton that lay there. Ironhorse watched him reach out, running a lightly caressing finger over the silver blade, then shivered in anticipation.

          While Harrison waited, watching in the mirror, Ironhorse stepped out of his jeans and folded them.  When he slid them on top of the dresser, Blackwood turned, his gaze dropping to the swelling bulge in Paul's BVD's.

          Ironhorse took advantage of the distraction, stepping up and reaching out to unbutton the man's shirt.  "Tonight I'm doing the work," he said softly.

          "Oh?"

          "Yes."  The black gaze pinned Harrison, and Paul smiled inwardly when he saw the scientist swallow hard and nod.

          "Okay," Harrison squeaked.

          "Good."

          Finishing with the buttons, Paul pulled the soft flannel off Harrison's shoulders, laying the shirt neatly across the back of his desk chair.  Blackwood took the opportunity to slip his fleece-lined slippers off.

          Turning back, Ironhorse reached out and unhooked the silver belt buckle, then each button of the faded blue jeans, one by one, as slowly as he could force his needy fingers to go.  He wanted to jerk the pants down, get them out of the way, but the building passion in the dancing blue eyes gave him the strength to proceed with his slow seduction.

          Paul stepped away, taking the time to light the three large candles sitting on the corner of his dresser.  That done, he turned off the overhead lights, casting the room into orange-red shadows.

          "Candles, Colonel?"

          Without answering, Ironhorse reached out and caressed Blackwood's bare shoulders.  The scientist moaned, swaying slightly side to side with the motion of Paul's hands.

          "You don't like it?" Ironhorse asked him.

          "No," Harrison whispered, his eyes closing as he continued to sway.  "No, I love it."

          Paul gently guided Blackwood to the bed, and Harrison sank down gratefully, falling back after a playful push.  Hands wandered up his pant leg, then descended on his crotch, touching lightly and skittering away.  Blackwood closed his eyes again and let Paul ease the denim down.  He listened as the colonel folded the pants and placed them with the shirt, only then returning to the bed.

          "Scoot up to the pillows," the soldier commanded, watching as Harrison did, his eyes still closed.

          Once Blackwood was leaning against the fluffy supports, Paul engaged his offensive wholeheartedly, starting at the feet, rubbing and squeezing, drawing a long moan of pleasure from the scientist.

          "I thought you knew how to relax, Doctor."

          "Some things are more relaxing than others, Colonel."

          Ironhorse grinned, working his way up the calves, letting his fingers slide through the soft hair, and tickling behind the knees.  Harrison sucked in a sharp breath, then sighed with pleasure.

          Paul watched the man grow hard as he stroked firmly down the muscled thighs.  The legs fell open, giving the colonel the room he needed to maneuver.  He reached in, teasing at the edges of the silky briefs Blackwood wore.  The curly head rolled slowly from side to side, fingers curling into the top cover.  Paul let his fingers brush feather-light over Harrison's groin, smiling as the hips pressed up slightly.  He moved to one hand, starting the massage all over again.

          "Ahhh," Harrison breathed.  "That feels so good."

          Paul chuckled softly.  "Yes, I know."

          He pulled on Harrison's fingers, massaged the palm of his hand and worked up the arm before transferring to the other.  Done there, he kneaded into the sensitive underarm and was rewarded with a groan.

          Red-bronze hands turned next to the lightly quivering belly, and he pushed and pulled over the smooth skin, first hard, then soft, then scratching.  Funny that of the two of them Harrison's chest would be smooth and he "lightly furred," as Blackwood put it – a hint of the Scots-Irish blood mixed into Ironhorse's ancestry.  He pushed up along Harrison's ribs and ran his fingers like water over his chest, making sure he brushed both hard nipples.

          "Oh, God," Harrison moaned softly.

          He reached under Blackwood, raking the broad back with his fingertips.  The scientist arched up, allowing him to reach under further.  As he did, Ironhorse gave into temptation, bowing his head, the tip of his tongue brushing the hard nub and winning him another, more desperate moan.

          Paul moved to the shoulders, knowing he would not be able to keep up the same slow pace much longer.  His own needs sped his hands as they eased up Harrison's neck and played across his face.  They were both breathing hard when he finished, his head bowing again, this time to Blackwood's slightly parted lips.

          Harrison arched up, pressing his mouth firmly against Paul's.  The colonel pulled back, his hands forcing Blackwood down.

          "Just enjoy," he reminded the scientist.

          "I _was_ enjoying myself," Blackwood murmured a little petulantly.

          "Shhh…"

          Feather soft kisses followed, tracing over Blackwood's face and neck like soft drops of rain.  They moved down to collarbones, and back to the aching nipples.  Tongue-tip circled, then pressed, lips sucked, teeth nipped gently, and Harrison tossed his head, his body flushing a soft pink.

          "Paul…" he groaned.

          "All in good time, Harrison."

          Ironhorse saw the swelled cock, straining under the fabric of the silky briefs.  He traced a fingertip along its length, and Harrison moaned, louder, his hips bucking. Reaching down, Paul carefully removed the underwear, then stepped out of his own.  When he settled back on the bed, he let his hands roam over Blackwood's body, touching, squeezing, scratching, rubbing until the cock stood, red and pulsing, a milky white drop at the tip reflecting the candlelight.

          "Turn over."

          "Paul," Harrison moaned desperately.  "Please…?"

          "Turn over."

          With a sigh and a groan, Harrison did, easing himself down carefully.  When he was settled, Ironhorse eased himself to the foot of the bed and started on the feet again.

          "You're driving me crazy," Harrison growled into the pillow.

          "Not possible, Doctor," Paul countered.  "You're already there."

          The massage proceeded quicker, and Ironhorse reached the inner thigh, reaching in to caress the weighty balls.

          "Ahh," Harrison moaned, burying his face in the pillow to muffle the sound.  "Soon?  Please?  Before I come lying here?"

          "Soon," Ironhorse promised.

          Paul skipped over the butt, rubbing and scratching Harrison's back and shoulders first, then the neck.  Finally he tangled his fingers into the light-brown curls, and rubbed while Blackwood sagged heavily on the bed, his muscles languid with pleasure.

          With a wicked smile, Paul blew softly down the crack of Harrison's ass.  The head popped up with a startled grunt that turned into a moan that had to be buried in the pillow as Paul's fingers kneaded the two cheeks, pressing them together and pulling them apart.  One finger targeted the sensitive sphincter and pressed.  Blackwood choked back a cry, his hips coming up off the bed.  Paul turned him over.

          "Now, we get down to business," Ironhorse said softly.

          "Oh, God," was the thick reply.  "Now?"

          Lying next to Harrison, Paul leaned over and kissed him, waiting the second it took for the lips to part before running a teasing tongue over them.  They parried, lips grinding, then pulling back while they reveled in the taste of each other.  Paul's hand snaked out, teasing at one nipple, then the other, trailing down to squeeze the dark-red shaft.  Harrison's hips lifted and together they created a rhythm of pleasure and need.

          Blackwood's hand reached out, closing on Paul's, and he scooted closer so Harrison could pump him.  Knowing they were both nearing the end of their tolerance, Ironhorse shifted position, then leaned over and kissed the almost purple head.  Letting it slip into his mouth, he ran his tongue around the top, and pressed at the small opening.  Harrison's fingers tightened.

          "Yes…  God, Paul, that feels so good," he whispered.

          Ironhorse glanced at the mirror above his dresser, catching sight of Blackwood, head thrown back, hips driving, hand wrapped around the soldier's own engorged cock.  He stopped and squeezed, pushing Blackwood back from the brink of orgasm.

          They both panted, and Harrison turned passion-drowned blue eyes on Paul.  "I want to do that to you."

          Ironhorse nodded.  It was time they both got the release they wanted.  He moved closer, giving Harrison's mouth access to his cock, while he started working on the astrophysicist's stiff rod.  He almost stopped as teeth nipped carefully on the head of his own cock and fingers worked their way to his balls and began to pull and squeeze.

          _Two can wage the same battle_ , Ironhorse thought, reaching in to cup Harrison. He paused, deciding to try a different approach.  His hand continued, finger seeking.  He felt the flesh in his mouth convulse and knew he'd found what he wanted.  He pressed, sending his finger further into the soft warmth.

          "Ahh," Harrison mumbled around his mouthful.

          Ironhorse pressed in deeper, sucking at the same time.  With a strangled cry, Harrison humped forward, cum erupting like a geyser.  At the first salty taste Paul felt himself explode in Harrison's mouth, the scientist sucking him dry.

          Harrison's arms swung wide, falling out at his sides, accompanied by a loud but satisfied groan.  Paul climbed bonelessly around to lie next to him.

          "God, you make me feel good," Harrison said softly, one arm folding up to wrap Ironhorse and pull him closer.  He chuckled.

          "What?" Paul asked.

          "Nothing."

          He poked Blackwood in the ribs.  "Tell me."

          Harrison grunted and playfully slapped Paul's shoulder.  "I was remembering a snippet of the Bible."

          "Oh?"

          "Well, it could've easily been the _Tibetan Book of the Dead_ , but it wasn't."

          "I know, or a Farside cartoon book.  What struck you?"

          "Faith, hope and charity."

          Ironhorse shook his head.  "You're weird."

          "No, I'm—"

          Ironhorse snorted.

          "Okay, maybe, but it's true…  Norton has faith that we'll win this war…  Suzanne and Debi are my hope for the future…"

          Paul's head rose slightly and he stared into Blackwood's eyes.  The eyebrows arched up.  "What does that make me?  A charity case?"

          Blackwood smiled.  "And the greatest of these is charity, Paul… the greatest of these—"  The rest was silenced with a kiss.


End file.
